


Ebbs and Flows

by preciousarthur



Series: Behind the Sea [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Nightmares, Post-5x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4510347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciousarthur/pseuds/preciousarthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Camelot's era, Merlin has nobody left, nothing left but dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebbs and Flows

_The scene whips by in flashes. There’s a scream here and a pool of blood there, before the time skips again, and he’s in the air, on a dragons back. Merlin grips the scales tight. It’s Kilgharrah, he thinks. That’s when the beast stretches its neck around to look Merlin right in the eye. It might be a dragon, but it conveys contempt with the flair of a human._

_“You disgust me,” it spits. It’s not Kilgharrah - it couldn’t be. Could it? “Young warlock, you have failed your destiny.” The dragon’s face morphs, it twists and flashes, and Merlin chokes back a cry. The scene is changing again, and the last thing Merlin hears is, “See what you’ve done!” before the dragon is gone, and everything is silent._

The dreams never stop. Sometimes Merlin is granted a bit of time to recover, a short nap. But then they come back in full force. Eventually Merlin begins staving off sleep for as long as he can. Each night he lies awake for hours before sleep claims him - and even then he wakes up tangled in his blankets from shifting restlessly, sweat pouring from every pore. The little rest he gets isn’t worth waking up a wreck.

The sleepless nights take a toll on his already time-worn body; they tire his eyes and make him forgetful. He finds himself with little to do. He busies himself during the days with walks. He takes up hobbies to keep his mind occupied. He paints. He writes. He looks after his small garden. He stops himself from thinking too much. Stops himself from sleeping. But nights are far more difficult. In the darkness, it’s too easy to succumb to nightmares filled with horrors he hopes he’ll never have to see again.

But it’s inevitable, and Merlin knows it. Each time he trips and falls back into the world of his dreams, it feels as though he’d never left. They seem to claw at him, scrabbling, trying to make him stay.

_Merlin’s legs are weighed down, but by what, he cannot see. He tries to scramble up. His lead-like limbs fail to move. He’s afraid to turn; he knows what he’ll find. He’s seen it before, too many times, and the image is etched into his retina now. Forever. But he knows how this one goes; knows that if he doesn’t turn around, he won’t be able to wake up, he’ll be stuck in this state of semi-consciousness for god knows how long. So he tentatively turns._

_Arthur lies behind him, head thrown back, exposing his deathly pale neck. His eyes are open, glaring at Merlin, accusing. A cry is torn from Merlin’s throat. Every time. Blood oozes out of the wound in Arthur’s chest. Merlin can hear the accusation in his eyes, ‘you’ve failed me, Merlin. Turns out you were useless after all.’_

_Merlin backs away as the tears start to prick at his eyes. He’s angry at himself for crying; why should he pity himself when Arthur is dead because he wasn’t good enough? Merlin doesn’t deserve it… He cries harder._

_Sometimes it feels as though his dreams are thrashing him around, like he’s a boneless doll, limp in the firm grip of their terror. No power to fight it. And why should he? After all, he failed. Failed. Failed._

The lake calms him, when everything else fails to. Sometimes he sits there for days on end, unmoving, unseeing; an old, old man waiting for something he lost too long ago.

Occasionally, there's a voice. Like the dreams, it ebbs and flows. Merlin thinks it's in his head. It tells him to go on. He fancies it sounds like Freya, his love once upon a time. The voice murmurs encouraging things to him, and he draws strength from it, strength to carry on.

The lake helps him to remember Arthur as he was. Not in the way his nightmares have twisted his memory. The worst thing about living for so long, Merlin thinks, is that his memories become irreparably morphed. 

All he wants is to remember each of his people - Gwen, his mother, his father, Morgana, Gaius, and most of all, Arthur - properly. Sweet, strong Gwen, who brought Camelot into its golden era. His loving mother, who lived the rest of her life in Ealdor, watching her son long for Arthur as she had once longed for Balinor. And his father, who died, and left him with a gift so wonderful - yet one which he could no longer use, for both dragons, young and old, had disappeared long ago. Merlin misses Gaius, his wisdom and his smiles. He regrets the time he spent with Morgana, wishes he could have helped her. And Arthur, the ache has yet to subside, the one which wishes they could have been something more…

But time has been cruel, and each of them turns on him in his dreams, spits at him, and tells him he failed his destiny.

It feels like Freya’s voice in his mind, soothing him, is the only thing which keeps him going. That, and the hope which it brings to Merlin’s life. And while the nightmares don't stop, the comfort from Freya eases the pain a little.


End file.
